


Assassin 62

by Beastie



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastie/pseuds/Beastie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an attempted assassination by a non-guild member, Sam Vimes has to find the would-be killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Assassin 62 settled himself on the roof of the guild of beggar’s building.  
“ ‘ello.” A Gargoyle mumbled though the pigeon nest in his mouth. “ ‘etting eh ‘eiw or ehe shuw?” he asked. Assassin 62 smiled under the deep grey scarf he had wrapped around his face. He settled into the shoot position and pulled his long range crossbow out of its bag. “Oh.” The gargoyle gasped and slowly started to edge himself away. Assassin 62 made himself comfortable. He did not wear the traditional black; a black-clad man would stick out like a clown at an undertaker’s funeral on the grey roof slabs. So he wore assorted greys and browns as he lay in wait. The other advantage to this was grey was less conspicuous than black and made it easier to blend into any crowd which did not consist completely of a certain brand of teenager. Down in the square one of these crowds had started to gather. There was no such thing as city pride in Ank-Morpork but a show was appreciated, so the Patrician or the Patrician’s people had started The Ank-Morpork award for public service. Assassin 62 pointed his crossbow at the stage and waited.  
Sam Vimes shaved in the mirror using his grandfather's cut throat razor.  
“Her ladyship instructed me to lay out the purple tights for this occasion sir,” Wilkins said. Vimes sighed washing soap off his razor. Purple tights. “Her ladyship also says that there is absolutely no use trying to squirm your way out of this and if you’re not dressed and ready in ten minutes she’ll storm in here and dress you herself in the Pink tights,” Wilkins added.  
“Was she smiling?” Vimes asked.  
“Only slightly sir.”  
Vimes sighed and gave his face one last wash. He looked at himself dejectedly in the mirror. Did more wrinkles mean more or less face to wash? Or just more time needed to get into the cracks?  
“There hasn’t been any murder’s have there?” he asked.  
“I have not heard sir.”  
“Assaults?”  
“No sir.”  
“Kidnapping?”  
“No Sir.”  
“Burglary?”  
“No sir.”  
“Arson? Fraud? Littering?”  
“No sir everything seems quiet today.” Wilkins sighed.  
“Damn!” Vimes muttered. He wondered into his room, his dress armour had been laid out for him, including the damned purple tights.

Assassin 62’s legs had fallen asleep. The rain had started to but he did not shiver, he had trained his body not to shiver. In his sights was the stage was filling with dignitaries and social hangers-on. Idly he moved his sights from dignitary to dignitary, counting up the prices in his head. Coaches were pulling into the square. The various leaders of the guilds were hopping out of them and taking their seats at the back of the stage. The square was filling up too but with people who weren’t worth killing. Finally, a coach pulled up with the new Vimes coat of arms and Assassin 62’s target stepped out. 62 readied himself, he rubbed life back into his legs and lowered his eye to the crossbow sights.

Vimes was shoved from the coach and into a seat at the back of the stage. He waited as the head of the Thieves guild made a speech about why they were all here. Vimes hated every word. He glanced about for escape; Sybil saw him and gave his arm a warning squeeze. She was bouncing little Sam on her knee, she had brought him to see Daddy receive his award. Young Sam was more interested in Sybil’s necklace, which he had within his investigations, chewed, dribbled on, bitten, pulled and tried to tie in a knot, but pudgy fingers make knots almost impossible. Vimes sighed, Sybil insisted that he deserved all this fanfare and what Sybil said was Sam Vimes law. He fidgeted uncomfortably and found the speech Willikins had written for him. He had asked Carrot and then Cheery, dwarf speeches follow a simple rule: Keep it short. Vimes was perfectly happy with this but Sybil informed him a speech has to be a least a sentence long. So he had turned to Willikins who had produced a longer and but still acceptably short speech. The head of the thieves’ guild finished his own rather longer speech.  
“And now a man who would have me in jail…” there were a few chuckles and clapping. Only Sybil saw Vimes nod. “His grace, duke of Ank, Commander of the watch, Sir Samuel Vimes”  
Sybil pushed Vimes forward and held Young Sam up so he could see his Daddy.  
Vimes took the podium, scanning the sea of faces in front of him, wondering what crimes they had committed today. There were patches of watchmen; they stood out like mushrooms in a daisy field, their helmets rusting in the rain. They had gathered to see the Commander make a fool of himself. Carrot stood in the crowd like an eager lighthouse, Angua next to him, failing to hide a smirk. Vimes knew the rest of them would be scattered about the crowd, Nobby properly skulking at the back. There will be a few reports of pickpocketing after this. Vimes took a deep breath, fished his silver cigar case out of his pocket, chose a cigar and placed it between his lips. Then remembered where he was, took the cigar from his mouth and found his speech. He was looking up at the sky hoping for lightning when he saw the glint on the roof of the Beggars guild.

Assassin 62 pulled the trigger.

Time slowed down for Vimes. Suddenly there was the arrow zooming towards him. He felt the air as the arrow flew pass his cheek and soar towards his family. Vimes dived stretching his hand out desperately trying to block it. The arrow sailed through Vimes’s hand cartilage and kept going. Gravity took hold, time caught up and Vimes crashed to the stage landing heavily on his bleeding hand. Sybil had turned turned covering the baby. The arrow hit her in the back of the shoulder, knocking her off balance. She landed heavily on the shoulder the arrow had spared, but she managed to keep young Sam from being hurt. Vimes clutching his bleeding hand to his chest dragged himself towards his wounded wife. Then time made up for lost time and suddenly Vimes was standing on the roof of the Beggars guild, staring at a crossbow.

“I just don’t understand it, sir.” Carrot was saying. Vimes lay down on the roof and raised the sights to his eye. He had a perfect view of the Square and the podium.

“They had a good view from here,” Vimes said.  
“Yes sir but surely it’s too far! A crossbow doesn’t have that sort of range.” Carrot explained. Vimes stood up and examined the crossbow.  
“I’ve never seen one like this before. Maybe new from Stong-in-the-arm” He said trying to cox the bow, but one handed it was impossible. “Did Anuga pick up a sent?” He added.  
“No sir whoever it was dropped a sent bomb. All she can smell is aniseed and lavender.” Carrot sighed.  
“Then why didn’t she follow that?”  
“She did and it led her to Molly & Dea’s exotic bath salt emporium, that’s where she lost it.” Carrot explained. “This seems like a professional job to me sir maybe the assassins.” He added.  
“Then why try and cover his tracks, why no note, no recipe? This is professional but not the assassin’s guild. At least not officially.” Vime’s sighed and sat down on a chimney pot. He could not move his hand, Igor had done his best but it was stiff and painful under the white bandages.  
“You look like you need some rest, sir.” Carrot.  
Vimes groaned and rubbed his eyes; with his eyes closed, he replayed the event. How Sybil had fallen. How Young Sam had wailed. Vimes could remember rushing to them pulling Young Sam away from the haemorrhaging Sybil, there was blood on his clothes. He remembered some ridiculous person screaming and another fainting. He remembered pressing his cloak to the wound and yelling at Carrot as he came running up, handing Young Sam to Colon and returning to Sybil begging her to stay awake. Most of all he remembered how pale Sybil looked. Of course, when they had figured out where the shot had come from the shooter was gone. The only witness was a gargoyle who described a masked figure in grey. Vimes opened his eyes.  
“Not until I get this Bastard.” Vimes growled.


	2. Chapter 2

Assassin 62 walked down the hospital corridor checking each room. He was wearing a Guard uniform. Which was surprisingly easy to obtain, Happy Hogarth’s Novelty’s had an almost perfect replica. All Assassin 62 had to do was scraped the words “STAG NIGHT!” off the back of the breastplate and he reframed from getting his name painted across the front. A man in black walking along a hospital corridor would turn some heads, but Guards were in and out of the hospital more than the nurses, no one battered an eyelid. He had considered a doctor uniform which was also on offer at Hogarth’s, but that could lead to awkward situations involving sick and injured people. Assassin 62 knew how to break an arm he did not know the first thing about putting one back together.  
He came to the room he wanted, the lumbering bulk of Sergeant Detritus stood outside the door. Quickly Assassin 62 stole a bunch of flowers from a passing trolley and confidently but not too confidently strolled over. Stopping to give Detritus a salute that looked like it had been recently learnt from “how to salute vol 3” and stood to attention.  
“Flowers for her ladyship sir.” Assassin 62 said in his most convincing uneducated voice. Detritus considered him for a moment.  
“You new?” Detritus asked.  
“Joined this morning sir. The Gate-tower branch.” Assassin 62 chirped gleefully.  
“What you name?”  
Assassin 62 rummaged the depth of his brain for a name.  
“Flowers… Lance-constable Flowers.” He blurted and instantly regretted it but he was stuck now. Detritus’s brow creased.  
“Really?” he asked.  
“Would I lie about that?” Assassin 62 scoffed. “Sir” he added quickly.  
“Who da flowers from Flowers?” Detritus asked a smirk spreading across his face his diamond teeth glittered.  
“Don’t know some posh lady, there is a note.” Assassin 62 shrugged.  
“Be quick Lance-Constable Flowers. Her ladyship is sleeping.” Detritus said and stepped aside. Assassin 62 slipped into the room and let the door swing to. Lady Sybil lay on the bed the white sheets folded over her like pastry over sausage. She was almost as pale as the sheets her breathing was shallow. Assassin 62 placed the flowers on a trolley making sure they obscured the view from the crack in the door. He slipped his hand under his breastplate his fingertips touched the flip knife he had in the pocket of his shirt. One quick cut to the throat is all it would take. However the room had no windows and Detritus blocked the only door, 62 needed an out.  
“Hello.” The weak voice said, interrupting his escape planning. Assassins 62 quickly withdraw his hand from his breastplate leaving the knife behind. Lady Sybil was looking at him with glazed eyes. “You’re one of Sam’s boy’s aren’t you?” she asked weakly.  
“Yes, Mam.” Assassin 62 said slipping back into his disguise. He looked at the bulk of the bandages under Lady Sybil’s plan and sensible nightdress. He had been so damn close.  
“You are so young.” Lady Sybil said, “What is your name?”  
“Flowers Mam.”  
Lady Sybil giggled weakly.  
“Is that your first name?”  
Assassin 62 rummaged around in his mind for a first name.  
“Sasha Mam, Sasha flowers.” he said.  
“Sasha… I’ve always liked that name.” Lady Sybil sighed sitting up. She wavered half way up holding her head. She beckoned 62 forward, he edged closer and she grabbed his arm squeezing it tightly. “Do not let them get to you, Watchmen are like school boys, they love to make life miserable for each other. Just ignore any teasing and you will be fine.” She said shaking her free finger at him. Suddenly she started to giggle and tightened her grip on his arm.  
“Are you alright Mam?” Assassin 62 asked he had not witnessed a reaction like this reaction to a near-death experience before it was fascinating.  
“It’s this wonderful new pain killer Dr Lawn gave me.” Lady Sybil giggled. “It’s like being on Charlotte…again.” She giggled.  
“You… were a Charlatan?” Assassin 62 asked honestly interested despite his better judgment.  
“When I was young…most of us in my dorm did it, some more than others… why do you think Focaccia StRice’s nose is like that…god’s it looks like the opening to a dwarf mine…But anyway I was trying to fit in with the popular group god’s know why they’re all a bunch of bloody dry hens... wet hens… wet sparrows… robins… peacocks…whatever. They all thought it was “such fun”. Maybe there was a little bit of rebellion mixed in there somewhere.” Lady Sybil giggled. “Then I met Lennie and I stopped all that silliness.”  
“Then you and he had a whirlwind romance? You a young heiress him a handsome man from the wrong side of the Ank.” Assassin 62 scoffed. This caused a very loud laugh from Lady Sybil.  
“No, nooo, Noooooooo, I was altogether too female for him.” she laughed. “He was just a good friend, moved to Uberworld in the end.” She faded into silence lying back and staring up at the ceiling. “It’s white! Very white, I wonder how they get it that white,” she pondered. “I always wanted a white horse when I was little. Daddy brought me a brown Pony but he was a lovely pony his name was Jake. I loved that pony. I was six… seven, something like that…I had pigtails. He was nothing like the horse I was riding earlier but how I got to that field then back here so fast I don’t know. And I’ve never seen Sam riding a horse without grumbling…” She rambled on; a mixture of childhood memories and painkiller hallucinations, sometimes it was hard to tell one from another. Assassin 62 listened fascinated, wondering what the Doctor had given her and if he could get some. “Where is Yong Sam, is he alright?” She asked suddenly.  
“I wouldn’t know Mam.”  
“He is probably with Sam. Sam would not leave him alone.” Lady Sybil said “He would not just leave him with Purity, she is good a nanny and good girl but I will not let my Son be raised by Nannies! I know too many useless men like that… You know you remind me of someone.” Lady Sybil added squeezing his hand slightly. “Don’t tell me, I am sure I will get it soon.”  
“What the hell is this?” the voice came from the door. Assassin 62 stiffened.  
“Sam!” Lady Sybil cried. Commander Vimes strode into the room followed by Dr Lawn.  
“Who are you?” Vimes asked assassin 62 who saluted.  
“Lance-Corporal Flowers sir. Gatehouse watch.”  
“Be nice Sam he’s young.” Lady Sybil said. She beckoned for her husband who took her hand. She held it tightly. “Can we go home, Sam. It is too white for me here.” She said.  
“Are you alright Sybil?” Vimes asked obvious concern in his voice he forgot 62’s presents for a moment.  
“Fine, just Fine.” Lady Sybil laughed kissing her husband's hand. “Where is little Sam? Is he okay?”  
“He’s at home with the nanny Dear he’s fine he was sleeping when I left him.” Vimes assured her.  
“Okay as long as he is alright. I have been talking to this nice young man Sam.” Sybil smiled. “I’ve been having a chat with this young man, Sam.” Sybil added dreamily.  
“Yes, you can go now.” Vimes glared at Assassin 62. 62 did not like the calculating way Vimes looked him over. He was waiting for him to point out some minor mistake he had made in his disguise or the in his acting. 62 stiffened and tried to look nervous about being in the presence of a superior officer.  
“Sam he reminds me of someone, doesn’t he remind you of someone?” Lady Sybil said pointing at Assassin 62.  
“Lady Sybil, how are you feeling?” Dr Lawn interjected taking her hand from Vimes and checking her pulse.  
“I am feeling just a little light headed.” Lady Sybil admitted, lying back onto the white pillows.  
“Yes, that would be the palliative.” Lawn mumbled. “Are you in any pain?”  
“My shoulder is stiff… can I have more of that stuff?”  
“Are you still here?” Vimes asked 62 sharply.  
62 saluted again and skulked out of the room quickly. He had never failed before now he had failed twice. The third time he would be lucky. 

Vimes sat in the hallway of the Hospital outside Sybil’s room. Sybil was asleep. Vimes considered it to be for the best, she was talking such strangeness when she was awake. Vimes had not had a conversation like that since he taken part in a raid on an expected scrap den. Although he shouldn’t judge did have his own moments in his drinking days. He needed a drink now. No, what he needed was a clue, some kind of hint in the right direction.  
“So?” he asked Cheery who had just scurried in. Cheery skidded to a halt.  
“No sir, there is no record of any Corporal Flowers nor has anyone ever heard of anybody by that name.” Cheery painted saluting. A vain in Vimes’s head started to pulsate but his expression did not change.  
“I’m sorry sir, he looked and acted just like a copper. Besides, you all look the same to me.” Detritus said. Vimes looked up at him. There was an unnerving silence.  
“Not your fault Sergeant . He’d fooled me too. I was looking right at the bastard.” He said eventually. “But now we can assume the arrow was never meant for me.” He added trying to flex the fingers on his banged hand. “I want a description of this man sent to all the stations and to all gates out of the city and extra guards, Guards we know! Put on watch at this hospital until we can get Sybil home. I want him found. Lawn!” he barked turning to the doctor who had emerged from Sybil’s room. Lawn took a step back.  
“Yes?”  
“When can Sybil be moved? I want her out of here.”  
“Well I suppose she is strong enough to be moved but she still needs regular painkillers.” Lawn said checking his notes.  
“Good you can come with us. Cheery get the coach, I want you on the roof and Detritus I want you to follow behind. I will meet you outside in ten.” Vimes barked.  
“Commander I just can’t leave the hospital.” Lawn started but Vime ignored him.  
The sergeant saluted and rushed to carry out his orders. Vimes let out a breath that growled slightly in his throat. Something in his gut started to boil, he had looked right at the busted, and he had spoken to him. “He’d better pray.” Vimes thought. “He’d better pray to whatever god he likes. He better pray that I’m not the one who finds him.” 

Assassin 62 crawled through the window of the Sunshine home for sick dragons. For weeks, he had been laying low in a scummy basement flat avoiding the long, short, stone and decaying arms of the law. He had then spent another week watching the Ramkin manner but nothing of Lady Sybil. He had started to lose hope and started to think he would have to brave the Manner. He was half way though trying to memorise where all the false tiles on the roof were when a coach left the drive. 62 followed the coach and it had led him to the Sunshine home for sick dragons.  
Crawling along the rafters of the high vaulted roof he tried to breathe through his mouth, but that only left a taste of sulphur, caracole and paraffin on his tongue that was much worst then smelling it. Finally, he spotted her, lady Sybil was wearing what looked like a leather duvet that had been made into a coat and a welders mask that she had pushed up onto her head, she was walking along the pens carrying two large buckets of dragon food. A small old man who had been sweeping the pens came up to her and started to chat. Lady Sybil listened politely nodding and smiling, until the old sweeper finished and waddled off. Lady Sybil returned to her work. “Dinner.” She was chanting, as she passed there was existed whistles and hoots as dragon’s heads popped up over the pens. Assassin 62 followed her scurrying along the beam like a monkey on a thin branch. Lady Sybil stopped at a table and started to mix the contents of the buckets, scooping ladles of it into individual bowls, each with names like “rover” and “sparky” written on them. While she was distracted 62 tied a thin cord to the flare he fortuitously had tied to his belt and lit it. Then quickly lowered it so it dangled just behind Lady Sybil’s back. Dozens of dragon eyes followed the flare fascinated. After a few warm up spits, it burst into white flames. The flame moulded itself into a ball of sparkling light that went whizzing over the pens. Dragon’s heads rose up. The sound of dragons inhaling filled the room. Lady Sybil turned in time to see a ball of dragon fire shooting towards her. She had just enough time to lower her visor before the room was engulfed in flames. Assassin 62, huddled himself on the rafter using his cloak to hide his face, holding his breath to stop himself breathing in the fumes. The heat kept building. The beam 62 was huddled on started to glow red, thankfully the dragons soon excused their flame and settle back down in their pen’s enemy defeated. 62 peered over the edge of the beam. Lady Sybil was now a tower of fire flailing around frantically trying to beat out the flames but she was still standing. 62 watched in horror as the Lady Sybil fireball picked up a trough of water and tipped it over herself. There were a great hiss and masses of steam. Lady Sybil dropped the trough and patted out the last few flames.  
“What happened!?” A fellow dragon fancier was running towards her brandishing a fire extinguisher.  
“Bloody hell fish!” Lady Sybil barked pulling off her mask. “What the bloody hell brought that on?” she asked taking off her burnt gloves. “I don’t know!” the dragon fancier gasped. “Are you alright Lady Sybil?”  
“Oh yes, barely a sunburn.” Lady Sybil laughed.  
Assassin 62 nearly cried.

Assassin 62 pulled himself into the bedroom window. He had made his way up the wall using suction cups to get up the smoothed down bricks. Then using the grappling hook and rope he caught the drainpipe and pulled himself onto the roof, avoiding the trick sliding tiles. He found the window he wanted and lowered himself onto the ledge. He did not use glass cutters that would be too noticeable but waited crouched in the shadow of a stone dragon. About half five the maid opened the window to air out the room and he slipped in while she was making the bed. Before the maid saw him he crept across the floor into the dressing room and waited sitting on a chest of old shoes. Soon he heard voices in the bedroom.  
“Sam you are being ridiculous!” the voice of Lady Sybil said. It was muffled but Assassin 62 could just hear the conversation. “I can’t just hide away like a scared hen in its coop!” She continued. Even muffled the voice drilled into Assassin 62’s soul.  
“I told you to keep away from public places at least until we found him! The Sunshine home for lost Dragons counts as a public place!” the voice of Commander Samuel Vimes voice drilled through the wall.  
“If you hid away every time someone tried to kill you, you’d never be seen again, Sam!” The shrill Lady snapped.  
“That goes with the job Sybil I can’t help it. But don’t change the subject that guy is still out there!” Commander Vimes snapped.  
In the room next to the dressing room where Assassin 62 was hiding, a baby started to cry. Assassin 62 realised he was standing in the passage between baby and parent. He hid in a very thick quilted coat. Heavy footsteps past by him and the door on the other side of the dressing room opened. He waited for a moment, the coat he was hiding in smelt of dragon and nose hair-burning perfume. Assassin 62 crept out of the coat and peered round the door into the bedroom. Commander Vimes was sitting on the bed, his back to him, casually removing his armour, unclipping the breastplate and pulling the rusted chain mail shirt over his head. Assassin 62 raised the sights of his crossbow to his eye and mulled over how easy the shot would be. Vimes was worth over a million, or he would have been if he had not been put on the do not kill list. So Assassin 62 lowered the crossbow and waited for the monument he could obtain his real target. From the baby’s room there was the sound of soothing words, and, what could have been singing the crying stopped. Footsteps came towards the other door. Assassin 62 swept out of the dressing room his footsteps not making a sound (he knew where all the creaking floor boards were). If he could make his way to the door to the hall he could find an unused bedroom and hide out there. Suddenly Commander Vimes turned, probably hearing his wife’s footsteps, but Assassin 62 had already silently hit the floor and rolled under the bed unnoticed. He wiped away the cold sweat that was running down his face.  
“Is he alright?” Commander Vimes asked getting off the bed and placing his armour on the chair of the dresser.  
“He’s fine just being fussy. I think another tooth is coming through” Lady Sybil sighed. She picked up his chain mail shirt and re-folded it. She held the Brest plate and buffed it dreamily with the sleeve of her dress.  
“Maybe I should go and read him some more.” Commander Vimes mused heading towards the Baby’s room.  
“No, he’s sleeping now.” Lady Sybil said. There was a long silence, they type that only exists between married couples.  
“I’m sorry Dear,” Commander Vimes sighed; “It’s just, I don’t know what Little Sam or I would do if anything happened to you.” he said.  
Assassin 62 rolled his eyes.  
“You’ll move one.” He thought.  
“I’m sorry to Sam, but it’s been week’s since the arrow incident.” Lady Sybil said she sat down on the bed. Assassin 62 tried to press himself against the floor to stop himself being crushed.  
“What about the dragons today?” Vimes pointed out.  
“That goes with the job Sam.” Lady Sybil laughed  
“I just want to know you’re safe.” Commander Vimes told her.  
“I know you do Sam.” Lady Sybil said.  
Assassin 62 did not like the tone of her voice; it was ominously warm. There was another silence but this one was laced with a hint of something tender.  
“Igor did do such a good job on my shoulder; it feels a lot better Sam. An awful lot better.” Lady Sybil purred. Assassin 62 really did not like the sound of that.  
Commander Vimes, a man known for being stone-faced, cantankerous, humourless and grumpy, giggled. Assassin 62 could not see his face but could hear the mischievous smile. Commander Vimes’s feet disappeared and the bed springs above Assassin 62 groaned disturbingly. Then there was a quiet moment, Assassin 62 waited unsurely.  
“Sam! Your hands are cold!” Lady Sybil shrieked suddenly but it was not a distressed shriek. Assassin 62 sighed inwardly as the bedsprings started to creak again. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the world, it was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

The household around him buzzed with activity. Assassin 62 lay under the bed listening to the sounds of people working and living. It might be safe now for him to slide himself out from under the bed but his arms and legs had gone to sleep hours ago he was hoping to join them. What was the point of giving up his hiding place now, he had made it through the night undiscovered and uncrushed but completely traumatised. Staring up at the wrong side of the mattress was slowly becoming a contemplative exercise. He could see his life in the loose thread he had been tracing. It started out strong, tightly threaded with its brother threads all packed in closely together like a cotton family. Then it got cocky and tried to break free, snapping its brother treads in its ambition to be in front. Then its plan backfired its bother threads let go of it completely and let it dangle sad, friendless and fraying. Assassin 62 sighed to himself. Self-doubt, self-pity and self-loathing were un-useful traits in any vocation with perhaps the exception of poets and some of the most melancholic songwriters. Soon the light in the room started to fade and Assassin 62 realised the sun must be setting, soon the Vime’s would be going to bed suddenly another night listening to them snore and other things was more unappealing then being caught. Wiggling like a caterpillar he shuffled out from under the bed and using the bedpost’s as support pulled himself up. When on his feet he tried to massage the life back into his legs. This job was becoming more than it was worth. He should have to ask for more money. He had never had a harder target. If he believed in fate he would think she was against him. He believed men are makers of their own fate, so any hardship was his own bloody fault. Assassin 62 strolled out of the bedroom he knew he would not be spotted the maids had already made their rounds of the upstairs. The lady would be feeding the dragons and Vimes would not be back until six. It was cocky he knew, tempting fate (if he believed in her) but he was fed up. He wanted to find an unused room and sleep. Work would have to wait. He passed the baby’s room and something deep inside him stirred. He knew it was almost suicidal but slowly he opened the door and looked in. The room was painted a pale yellow, little lambs bounced across the walls and everything had something fluffy on it. In the crib that had been pushed up by a window, young Sam stood holding on to the bars of his tiny baby cage. He looked up at Assassin 62 and his face contorted in confusion. Young Sam was waiting for daddy.   
“Da?” he asked dribbling on the cot bars. This translated loosely to, “you are not daddy”   
“Um… Hello…” Assassin 62 whispered in a friendly baby voice.   
“Da?” Young Sam repeated confusion deepening. This translates to, “Defiantly not my daddy, but I don’t know if I don’t like you yet.”   
“I’m just having a look. I’m going now.” Assassin 62 whispered and started to leave.   
“Ba!” Young Sam screamed this translates to “I am not done with you yet!” Assassin 62 quickly closed the door and scurried over to the tear-leaking baby. The assassin handbook did not have a section on how to quite babies.   
“Please don’t scream.” He begged he knew the nanny would be close by and he would not have enough time to hide before she came, she would see him and there would be more screaming. “Look a teddy!” He chirped waving the first toy he could reach in front of the boy.   
“BA!” Young Sam cried and pointed to the shelf above the cot. Assassin 62 picked up the book the baby was pointing at.   
“This? You want this?” he asked. He read the title and forgot his desperate attempt to silence the baby. The book was more pulp than paper from where it had been chewed and dribbled on so much. The title was scarcely readable it was, “Where’s my cow?”   
Assassin 62 gazed at the book for a long time. He flicked it open to the first page and started to read. It wasn’t the most inspired literary masterpiece, but it touched a chord somewhere in the Assassin 62’s chest. Minutes flew by and he realised he was still reading the book; he looked up pulling himself out of the brightly coloured pages. Young Sam was gazing up at him waiting; the young lad was not accustomed to reading without animal noises. “Here you go.” He said handing the book to the baby who immediately placed it in its rightful place between his gums. Assassin 62 backed out of the room carefully closing the door.   
“Don’t move.” Vimes snapped pointing a crossbow at the back of 62’s head.   
62 froze. Vimes removed the cigar from his mouth. “Okay now, you can slowly back away from the door.” Vimes told him. Assassin 62 took his hand off the door handle and backed away raising his hands above his head. Keeping the crossbow aimed at 62 Vimes edged to the baby’s room and looked in.   
“Da!” young Sam cooed. Satisfied that Young Sam was unhurt Vimes closed the door. “Hands on the back of your head.” Vimes ordered. 62 did so. Vimes stepped towards him and using his free hand he took the knife from 62’s sleeve and the three others from his belt and the one strapped to his ankle. He threw all these away. “Okay now move.” Vimes snapped pushing 62 away from the bedroom and down the stairs.   
“Sam what’s going on?” Sybil was standing at the bottom of the stairs holding a dragon.   
“Stay back Dear.” Vimes warned poking Assassin 62 in the back of the head as a warning.   
“We haven’t been introduced formally, Lady Sybil.” Assassin 62 called over his shoulder as Vimes root marched him across the hall and into a chair. “My name is Sam.” He smiled at Sybil as Vimes sat him down in a chair and handcuffed his hands behind his back.   
“Dear I need you to send word to the yard have them send at least four officers to tell them I have a suspect.” Vimes told Sybil, he adjusted the crossbow pointing at his prisoner’s head.   
“You’re not going to do anything drastic Sam?” Sybil asked hesitantly edging towards her husband.   
“Sybil go!” Vimes warned. Sybil hesitated for a moment before she obliged.   
“She seems nice.” Assassin 62 said cheerfully.   
“No talking.” Vimes hissed.


	4. Chapter 4

From the other side of the basement cells of Peudopalous Yard Vimes stared at the boy sitting handcuffed the table, barely out of his teens with chestnut coloured hair and proud facial features. He reminded him so much of…  
“What do you think?” He asked Carrot who had just finished interviewing Assassin 62.  
“I can’t get anything out of him Sir. And what he is saying doesn’t make sense.” Carrot admitted not looking Vimes in the eye. Vimes gave the boy another look. No could withstand an onslaught of Carrot, in under a minute they would be crying, “Yes alright, I did it! Whatever it was, just stop smiling at me and no I don’t want tea.”  
“I’ll go talk to him, give me the room,” Vimes said darkly. Carrot shot him a look.  
“No Sir that’s not a good idea,” he said. “We don’t want him falling down any stairs,” he added diplomatically. Vimes glanced angrily at Carrot, who only got metaphorical when he thought he was right, but Carrot should know Vimes better than that. No, Vimes corrected himself, Carrot knows him too well. Vimes nodded and leaving Carrot standing by the door he marched slowly over to the boy who smiled at him as he approached, he felt his knuckles itch.  
“Whats you name?” Vimes asked he didn’t sit down but clutched the back of the empty chair.  
“Sam,” 62 smiled pleasantly.  
“Whats your full name?” Vimes asked again.  
“Assassin 62.”  
“You’re not a guild member.” Vimes pointed out, he was sure of that after a lengthy meeting with Lord Downy, which would have been enjoyable to see Downy squirm if Sybil wasn’t involved.  
“Not yet.” 62 said brightly.  
“So that's it? You want into the guild? Trying to prove yourself?”  
“No, I will be in the guild and I will be the highest scoring student in fifty years.” 62 growled.  
“I’m not here to play silly buggers. I am not interested in this insanity con you are trying to pull. I know a professional when I see one and I know crazy you are not Sir. So you are going to tell me who hired you and why they want Lady Ramkin dead. Then maybe I’ll have a word with the hangman, make it quick.”  
“Or you could end it now. I’m sure the hangman has enough boots.” 62 purred seductively. Vines' knuckles whiten on the chair back.  
“Why Lady Ramkin?” Vimes asked again, pushing the dark thoughts to the back of his mind and bringing the most important issue to the front.  
“Do you know how much the Ramkins or Your estate is worth?” 62 asked with a smirk.  
Vimes hesitated, he did not like knowing how much the estate and by the laws of ownership, he was worth.  
“It’s over seven million.” 62 filled in “and that is in property alone.”  
“But everything belongs to me, she dies it affects nothing.” Vimes pointed out.  
“But my clients reason that if Lady Ramkin dies you won’t be very interested in property management and sell off most property at a respectable price.” 62 explained slowly.  
“Who are these clients?” Vimes asked.  
62 smiled.  
“You know I can’t tell you that,” he said. Vimes clenched his jaw thoughtfully.  
“You’re not in the guild now, you can tell me.” He hissed.  
“But I still won’t.” 62 said. “It’s interesting how you don’t call her Sybil or even Lady Vimes. It is always Lady Ramkin. That’s very telling Sir Samuel.” he smiled. He’s trying to get me angry, Vimes told himself, don’t rise to the bait. “Of course, I feel like I know you both intermittently after spending last night hiding under your bed.” 62 continued. The vain in Vimes forehead started to pulsate but his face remained stone still. “Lady Ramkin squeals doesn’t she.”  
“What are you trying to do Lad?” Vimes snarled.  
“I’m trying to kill your wife Sir Samuel. Not because I know her, hate her or because I have some political agenda, but because someone will pay me. She’s nothing but a paycheck when she’s dead, I collect my money and never the think of it again.”  
Vimes lashed out landing a punch to knock the smile off the boys face. 62 responded by head-butting Vimes on the nose and upturning the table onto his foot, using the weight of the table to snap the lock on the handcuffs. Once free 62 grabbed Vimes by the hair slammed his bloody nose onto the side of the table. Carrot was thundering towards him and Vimes was pulling himself up. Using Vimes’s back as a step 62 jumped and grabbed a rafter.  
“No use lad. where are you going to go?” Vimes called up as he got to his feet. 62 shuffled along the rafter towards the door.  
“I’m going to hang anyway Sir Samuel. I’m just seeing what it's like,” 62 called back the effort of keeping himself on on the rafter making talking difficult He found the spot he wanted.  
“Doors locked lad and there are fifty coppers on the other side of it,” Vimes laughed.  
“Come down quietly now,” Carrot added.  
“Shall we tell those coppers about that little Ank-Morpork kiss you just gave me sir?” 62 asked sweetly. His arm mussels started to ache, he looked down and repositioned himself slightly, it was going to be tight but he might make it.  
“Get him down Carrot,” Vimes growled. 62 let go of the rafter, he hit a drain cover which span and let him fall though into the sewer below.

Littlebottom was on the reception desk today, actually, she was on the box behind the reception. currently, she was talking to the troll who had dragged himself and a very reluctant youth into the station.  
“and how many cigarets did the gentlemen put out on your face.” She asked. There was a thundering sound as Vimes came running up from the cells, followed by Carrot screaming for Detritus and Angua, blood trailing from his nose.  
“get that drain fixed!” he screamed at Cherry as he zoomed past. He clattered out the door his small squad struggling to keep up and raced towards Scoon ave. 

It had been easy to get into the Ramkin Manner, Assassin 62 stepped lightly into the library where Lady Sybil was working at the large oak desk looking out onto the lawns. 62 crept forward the knife he had snatched from the kitchen raised. The elderly dragon sitting under Lady Sybils desk raised its head a growled. 62 stopped still not looking directly at the dragons eyes. The dragon deciding he wasn’t a threat lowered its head and went back to sleep. Lady Sybil stood up, humming to herself and started to shuffle papers around the desk as 62 crept closer. He was almost close enough to strike, when Lady Sybil stepped heavily onto the dragon's tail. The dragon flamed at him, he jumped out the way, dropping his knife. Sybil spun round and delivered an uppercut, like being hit with a shovel, onto 62’s chin. 62 hit the ground rolled and grabbed the knife as Sybil bore down on him like a siege engine. 62 pointed the knife at her throat in time. Sybil stopped and stepped back her hands raised. She was formidable but untrained, she wisely chose not to fight.  
“You don’t have to do this.” Sybil said as 62 stood up, he wiped the blood from his nose with his free hand.  
“I do Mam.” he said stepping towards her. “I’ll make it quick.” he promised.  
“You know why the assassins guild took Sam off the list?” Sybil asked stepping back her hands still raised. 62 did not answer but kept creeping towards her. “it's not because Sam is too valuable to the city, its because every time they tried, I raised the rent of their building. Stop and think what Sam will do.” Sybil said, she was backed against the desk now.  
“This will go easier if your stop talking.” 62 advised her.  
“Please. I have a son.” Sybil begged quietly, she had tears in her eyes now, the woman who had just a moment ago attacked like a bull was whimpering like a lamb at the thought of leaving her son motherless. 62 lashed out and placed his hand on her throat.  
“This won’t hurt I promise.” he said. Sybil looked into his eyes deeply.  
“It’s you isn’t it.” she gasped. 62 paused knife raised. There was a sudden crash as Vimes burst through the door followed by Carrot and Detritus. 62 spun round hiding behind Lady Sybil clutching the knife to her throat.  
“Not a step closer Commander.” he warned.  
“Think about this lad,” Vimes growled as he stepped closer.  
“Step back Commander and tell your dogs not another step.” 62 growled back. Vimes waved to Carrot and Detritus to freeze. “Now all of you step back out of the room me and Lady Sybil are going to walk out of here and we are going to keep walking until I don’t see any Watchmen.” 62 explained edging him and Lady Sybil towards the french windows. Vimes waved to Carrot and Detritus to leave the room after they did he edged towards 62 again.  
“It’s just us now lad. we can sort this out.”  
“Doesn’t he remind you of someone Sam.” Lady Sybil said. Both 62 and Vimes paused. “He looks so much like my father.” Sybil continued. Vimes stared at the boy, he never knew Sybils father but there was a portrait in the sitting room, there was a similarity, but he saw something else. It had bothered him earlier now the pieces fell into place, boy reminded Vimes of Sybil. He had the same eyes, same lips every this was Sybils accept the nose. The boy’s nose reminded Vimes of his old mum’s.  
“When the old sweeper told me my son was trying to kill me, I thought it was a joke. Then when I tripped on Little Sam’s toy today, I thought it was odd. But I didn’t think it would be like this.” Sybil continued.  
“Sweeper?” Vimes mimicked, slowly things started to fall into place. “really?” he asked the room in general.  
“Why are you doing this Sam?” Vimes barked the confusion was making him angry he took a step towards his Son and wife. 62 pressed the knife in as a warning Vimes stopped.  
“I need the money.” 62 shouted.  
“She’s your mother!” Vimes shouted back.  
“She died while I was a baby! I don’t know her!” 62 screamed.  
“If that’s true it’s clearly because of you!” Vimes snapped. “You’re in the past trying to murder your mother, who died when you were a baby and you didn’t make that connection?” Vimes shouted.  
“She’ll die anyway with or without my help.” 62 said.  
“You don’t know that,” Vimes hissed. “I don’t understand how this happened, even if Sybil wasn’t... isn’t there, I wouldn’t let you grow up not knowing who she was.” Vimes said he studied 62’s face. The boy’s face was sombre and drawn. “I’m not there ether am I?” he asked forlornly. Assassin 62 shook his head.  
“What happened or happens?” Sybil asked.  
“You leave me.” 62 cried, he pointed furiously at Vimes. “with an alcoholic who ignores me, sends me away to schools and drinks himself to death caring about nothing but the watch and bear huggers.” he explained angrily. He turned back to Vimes “You die when I am ten. You will have a heart attack at your desk. Your last act was to write. Sodding Paper work! On a progress report. I was too young and away at school, I could not take care of the estate, so it was taken on by your old solicitor, on the understanding it would be looked after until I was of age. It was subsequently completely lost on the stock market. Then the house was taken and then my school bills payments were stopped. I was lucky to get the Guild scholarship. Even a bankrupted aristocracy is better than no aristocracy to the guild. Also, think Mr Ironfounderson pulled some string for me,”  
“Carrot?” Vimes interrupted.  
“Yes he looked after me as much as he could when you die, but ruling a city takes up a lot of a man’s time and then of coarse there was the business with Mrs Angua. I think he just forgot about me after time, just like you and everyone else.” 62 finished his impassioned speech surprised at himself.  
“I don’t drink anymore.” Vimes said weakly.  
“You will.” 62 hissed. Vimes tried to imagine it. What would he do if Sybil did die? Would that bottle of bear huggers he kept in the draw of his desk be his way of grieving? No. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t let himself fall back down that hole, but he had or he will. He looked at the boy he wasn’t lying, he was sure of that. He did look so much like Sybil but a heavy-eyed, thin, joyless version of Sybil. He had a brow that looked furrowed even when he was not frowning and too furrowed at his early stage of life. He had been pulled down by his own life, a life that Vimes failed to build. A thought hit the back of Vimes brain, like a knife sliding alone his skull. What happens to a building if you take away the foundation during construction? It crumbles. Realisation slowly bubbled for Vimes. Sybil was the foundation for the life he was trying to build for his son and himself. Take her away and everything crumbled. This boy was his son he should know him, even though he had been thrown back here from a time far away. But he was the collapsed remains of what his son could be. Sybil took this opportunity and wriggled out of 62’s grip. She stood before the boy and placed her hands on his shoulders. She looked Young Sam over again, reached out at brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes and looked deeply into them. “You grow up so handsome.” She said finally. “You joined the assassins?” she asked although she knew the answer. 62 nodded taken aback, still holding the knife up. To him Lady Sybil was a severe woman who was as hard as rock, at least that was how she looked in the portraits, but the woman talking to him now was positively warm and gentle. “Well that’s, fine as long as you are happy.” she continued taking his hand in hers. “If this is the last time I’ll be in your life...Well then” Lady Sybil said brightly she started to fiddle with 62’s clothes flicking dust off his shoulder and straitening his collar. “You’ll have to get all my motherly advice now. Just remember always be polite but not so polite that people take advantage of you. Do what makes you happy, if that’s Assassination then so be it. Just be sure that’s what you want and not what others want of you.” She said tears started to fill her eyes, but she still kept up her bright brittle tone of voice. The woman who 62 had always assumed was made of iron had started to melt in front of him.  
“Sybil?” Vimes aware of the knife 62 still held up, reached out for his wife but she pushed him back gently.  
“No, let me say this.” Sybil snapped at Vimes, but keeping her bright brittle tone of voice. “Do you have a love?” she asked 62, who shook his head sadly. “Well if you find someone be sure you are good to them, be gentle and look after them, because one day maybe a girl or a boy.”  
“Sybil!” Vimes gasped.  
“A girl or a boy” Sybil continued ignoring her husband. “will mean the world to you this can happen anytime in your life. Sometimes it’ll hurt but you have to stay gentle no matter how much someone might hurt you, never hurt them back. Start hurting people… outside of work and you will be lonely, I don’t want that for you.” She still fiddled with 62’s clothes. She stopped her speech and tried to think of more to say. She had not prepared anymore she had always taken it for granted that she would have a good ten years to prepare all the comforting and helpful speeches that a mother should give. Tears were falling down her cheeks now but she stilled smiled. There was a stinging in 62’s eyes, he reached up and touched his own cheek. It was wet with his tears. He rubbed the delicate liquid between his fingers it had been so long since he cried. While he was distracted Lady Sybil kissed his cheek and held his face in her warm hands “I know.” She said, “I know you’re a good man because I see it in your face and I see it in young Sam every time you smiles.” She said. 62 dropped the knife and wrapped his arms around her. She was warm and soft not like iron or stone or steel, she was soft like he had dreamt she would be. She smelt of sickly sweet perfume and dragon. The smell conjured memories he didn’t know he had, these memories triggered emotions which he had buried long ago. He started to weep onto her shoulder nuzzling his face against her hair. Lady Sybil returned the hug willingly. “Remember your Mother loves you, so very much.” She whispered.  
“I missed you.” 62 wept.  
“Samuel Vimes the second?” a voice asked. 62 opened his eyes and realised he was hugging air. He straightened himself and looked around them. His parents had gone, the room had gone, the whole universe had dissolved and he was standing in nothingness with a short bald man holding a broom.  
“Yes?” he said rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked.  
“It took us a long time to find you Master Vimes.” The bald man continued. “It’s time we got you back,” he added.  
“No.” 62 snapped, “I want to stay, I want to know my parents. I want to change things.” He said then marvelled that the words had come from his mouth. The Bald man smiled at him and pulled cigarette butt out from behind his ear he lit it and took a deep drag.  
“You have.” He said. 

62 woke up, he had not realised he had gone to sleep. He was sitting at a table. The smell of something fried was wafting up his nostrils. He looked down; yes there was a plate of fried food in front of him. Sausages so black they could have been used to keep a fire going, fried eggs so rubbery they could be used for boot leather and tomatoes so over cooked they could have been bisects. Still 62’s mouth started to water.  
“Are you alright dear?” A voice asked. 62 looked up. Lady Sybil was sitting across from him, staring at him over a plate of toast. “You seemed to fade out for a moment there.” She added. 62 looked at her unsure what to say, he looked down at the meal again. “You’re not coming down with something are you?” Sybil asked rushing over to him. She started to fuss, checking his temperate.  
“Leave the boy alone and let him finished his breakfast,” a paper at the other end of the table said, Vimes lowered, folded the paper and smiled at 62. “he’s just admiring the fry up you cooked for him. Aren’t you Lad?” he said with a wink.  
“62.” 62 said. Both his parents looked at him with concern.  
“62 what dear?” Sybil asked. 62 whined his head flopped down and hit the table. While his head was down he looked at his clothes, he was wearing black, but it was not assassin black, it was dusty and almost grey. The clothes looked tailored made but had been allowed to mould themselves around the personality of the wearer. Which he was surprised to find was apparently him. They were not the clothes of an assassin they were the clothes of a student, but a student of what? Textbook passages of how to set a broken leg and what are the symptoms of mumps and how to tell them apart from smallpox. Why did he know that? He looked around him he was sitting in the morning room of the Ramkin manner it was warm and comforting he knew this place. He knew it very well. 62? Why had he said that? Memories of assassins and orphans, of hospital rooms and dragons and short men with brooms, flashed through his head. Information like how to strangle a man with a shoelace and the best place to shoot an arrow for the cleanest killed popped into his head. But he did not know any of that, he was not an Assassin he was a student. Two final words popped into his head they were “Sodding paperwork” what did that mean? Then the cogs in his mind slowly slid into place and started to turn normally.  
“I’m fine Mum.” He said and gave Sybil a quick hug, for some reason he felt like he had to. “I just didn’t feel like myself for a moment.” He explained, but now he did. He was Sam Vimes-Ramkin. He was sitting in his home with his parents loving like he did every Sunday morning. That was how was and it had always been.


End file.
